How to get past the phrase, "Your dad never really cared for you."

There are lots of things that parents just aren’t suppose to say to their kids. But I’m really happy that my mom tells me that my dad never really cared about me because it makes me strive to be a better person even harder.

My parents divorced when I was seven and in America, that wasn’t uncommon in the late 90s and even less uncommon now.  But I don’t think that my family situation was like most when involving separation. You see, my mom actually sent me and my sister to live in India while she picked up the pieces of her “we” life and converted in to an “I” life. She didn’t want my sister and I to go through a messy divorce with a disturbed man. And he was disturbed and unbalanced and deranged and all the synonyms you can think of and then some. I never had him around to deem him otherwise in my mind because he never took the time. It didn’t matter at all.

My mom left us in India for two years and I don’t resent her in the least for it now, partly because I was probably too small to think that bitterly back then and mostly because I know that she sent us away because it was the best for all of us.  She didn’t want us going through that pain and struggle.

But as far back as I can actually remember memories of my dad; I’ve known that he didn’t love me as much as he did my sister. I was the second born and for some reason, I was white as a snowman’s bottom with very almondy  (yes, I’m making up words now) eyes. I’ve heard my mom tell me on dozens of occasions that my dad said I wasn’t his because two Indians couldn’t have possibly created someone that looked like me. As I grew older I definitely grew into seeing the similarities though. I have his stupid thick hair and chin dimple that I like to call “the butt.” I draw well and I love photography. But I feel like he shouldn’t get credit for that stuff. He didn’t teach me, I taught myself.

I don’t think my mom reminds me of how he felt from time to time to hurt me but I think it just goes with what she’s saying to me at the moment, because she wants me to grow as a person, and or because she doesn’t quite understand that that very sentence used to hurt me. It doesn’t anymore. You get over that kind of phrase when you realize that he’s missed all your graduations, your heartbreaks, your joys, and doesn’t even know what your favorite color is or what you want to be now. You forget to care when you realize that 12 years have passed by without a phone call. You stop giving a shit when he calls for your sister’s birthday but not yours.

I feel bad for him because he’ll never get to see the people that my sister and I have become. I’m angry because he helped make someone he could never take care of.

But I’m happy for the person I am because 12 years later, I know that I can live without the person that’s suppose to responsible for half of me.

I feel bad for him.

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Tags: bastard, dad

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